


Return to Sender

by Toryb



Series: Dear Angel [2]
Category: Archie Comics, Archie Comics & Related Fandoms, Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Betty's POV this time, Dark!Jughead, F/M, Female Masturbation, Love Triangle, Masturbation, Sociopath!Jughead, betty just thinks there is, but not really, no murder in this one, serial killer!jughead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-22 14:31:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12483796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toryb/pseuds/Toryb
Summary: Six months after the first letter, Betty struggles to comprehend her feelings for the mysterious killer while keeping them hidden from her boyfriend, Jughead Jones.*I highly recommend you read Sincerely, A Ghost first*





	Return to Sender

**Author's Note:**

> Really really, REALLY grateful for all the interest this story has gotten. Writing this is a really cathartic thing for me and makes me live out my childhood fantasies of being a murder mystery novelist. I hope you guys enjoy the second part which centers more around Betty's point of view. You get a little Betty naughtiness but trust me when I say the next part will be VERY intimate.
> 
> Come find me on tumblr: @tory-b. I'm having a giveaway for my followers since I reached 700 (Now 780 HOLY COW) so stop by, chat, and maybe leave a request!

It was nights like tonight that Betty craved his touch. Sprawled across her bed were letters, messy prose scrawled on crumbled sheets, evidence from crime scenes she couldn’t bear to part with. No one knew of her secret love affair, not even her boyfriend. It was dirty, dark, scandalous, and it brought a fire between her legs like nothing she had ever experienced before.

_Dear Angel_ , she reread the words every night. His love confessions, his desperation, she felt it all with equal fervor. Her Ghost. A man who killed for her, who craved for her. The police had been so perplexed by his shift. There was no denying it to be the same killer, but the presence of lilies at every crime scene baffled them. It was rare for a killer to change so out of the blue. But not her. She knew. She knew because he said they were for her. He promised it. Every haunting, bloody moment was a declaration of his love for her.

Maybe it wasn’t love. Maybe it went deeper than that. Obsession, one might call it. But if that’s what it was, Betty wanted to drown in it.

He knew such intimate things about her. The way she curled her hair before she slept. The color of her Tuesday panties. She had left those on the windowsill as a present for him. The next morning, they went missing.

Did her Ghost think about her at night too? A halo of hair spread about her pillow, fingers buried deep in her pussy while her swollen lips choked out his name. Over and over, her thumb danced across her clit. Was he watching now? She prayed he was. After all, this little show was all for him.

Betty thought of his hands, wrapped around her throat, strong, commanding. His nails on her skin as his thick cock ruined her from the inside out. Pleasure danced behind her eyes. Release was coming, chasing her over the edge. She thought of what he might look like, dark eyes seeing past every ounce of good girl mystique to find the hungry slut hidden within. When it came, she cried out for him. Tears at the intensity even just the thought of him could muster. She knew so little, but craved to have it all.

No one knew of the letters, or the eyes that watched her late into the night. The police, news stations, fans all clambered about her. In the last six months, she had become a celebrity. The world ached for any bit of information about this mysterious hunter, and she had been hand-picked to deliver his message.

What had been so special about Elizabeth Cooper? The people asked. Truthfully, she did not know herself. For so long she had seen her own image as plain and insignificant. The eyes looking back at her in the mirror were those of a dead woman, disconnected from a cruel reality. And then he came and a spark ignited. Fire burned in her heart and rekindled her soul once again. Every day brought hope. Hope for another dead body, another letter, another story to tell. Perhaps it was wrong to crave the extinguishing of human life, but she knew they were monsters.

He swore it when he wrote to her. He killed because he had to. There were too many in the world, greedy corrupt souls who fed on the misfortunate. Ghost was not a murderer, no, he was a vigilante. He craved order and beauty and he saw that in her. She was the perfect specimen, an angel.

Jughead didn’t know. He couldn’t know. No doubt he would run off, towards the hills and ignore her calls. His girlfriend, in love with a man the world labeled a sociopath. He deserved better than that. Jughead was good, soft, sweet. Late nights with him made her heart flutter. When the world felt too much to handle, he held her up without complaint.

Things should have been simple, easy. A man like that, Veronica called him a catch. When she had come down with bronchitis, he had spent the day in bed with her. Soup, movies, and kisses she told him would only get him sick but enjoyed never the less.

But he put on a mask to keep her out, a mask she wanted to shatter. He never talked about himself, not really. He mentioned he was an author, someone who loved the written word and expelled themselves from society like a transcendentalist poet. But in six months she knew nothing of his family, his life before moving to New York. Betty saw that there was pain inside of him, thrust into the past and forced to stay there. Selfishly, she craved to unearth it. Whatever lay in that mausoleum fascinated her. It contained the root of the darkness tinging her boyfriend’s outwardly spotless soul.

Jughead was a safe mystery. A gentle man who only wanted to see her smile. But her Ghost, he was an enigma. A toxic danger that was slowly consuming her life. Every letter was like a shot of heroin, and Betty never wanted to quit.

Life had become a tangled web of lies, lust, and secrets. Was she the spider, in charge of it all, or a helpless fly waiting to be devoured?

Tonight was movie night. A tradition Jughead had insisted upon ever since first learning their shared love of classics. They were continuing the Tarantino marathon started two weeks prior. Betty was preparing a home cooked meal. After nearly a week of delivery at the paper, she was craving something that wasn’t fried or frozen, and Jughead was more than thrilled to be the recipient of her cooking.

“What’re we having?” he asked for the fifth time, like a child who couldn’t stand to be left out of any adult secret.

She laughed and rolled her eyes. “I already told you: it’s a surprise.” Her boyfriend groaned, peppering kisses along her neck. It was an honest attempt at pulling the information from her, but Betty held strong. “Go chop the onions like I asked, nosy.”

“You want me dead,” he gave an over dramatic roll of his eyes before turning and resuming his work at the cutting board.

Truthfully, she missed his warmth. But her mind was somewhere else tonight. It wasn’t right, she knew that, thinking about her Ghost while in the midst of her boyfriend. Perfect, gentle Juggie, who deserved someone so much better than a traitor like her. Her heart ached, pulled in separate directions. Both of these men filled voids in her life, but living in this limbo any longer might rip her in two.

Betty turned to watch him: the dark-haired boy now slicing onions with tears in his eyes. It made her smile. This was what a relationship should be. Normalcy, comfort, warmth: things she had craved all her life. And here she had them, with Jughead. The decision would be hard, but this man, he was obtainable. The other was not.

“Juggie…I love you.” It came out as a whisper, a frightened plea of a broken little girl.

He never paused his handiwork. Another chopping thud and then his response, “I love you too, Angel. I would kiss you but I have onion all over my hands.”

Her heart melted. Leave it to him to dash away all her fears with a quip and a smile. Maybe she could live without a ghost when she had a man by her side.

And then it clicked.

_Angel._ He had never called her that. Not before. Betts, Betty, sometimes Elizabeth if he was feeling cheeky, but never once before had he used Angel. Her entire body shook as the realization washed over her. Apprehension, fear, but most of all, relief. The men she loved: two halves of one whole. The lilies, the love letters. He had been screaming for her to notice, but she had been so blind to it all, wrapped in the silly melodrama her mind had created.

“Ghost?”

Finally, he stopped. She watched then, as his whole demeanor changed. He was more confident now, as a darkness consumed those familiar blue eyes. He smiled softly and turned to face her. Step, by step, her heart beating faster and faster as he descended upon her. The gentleness of his touch surprised her, his finger coming to rest under her chin. He brought her head up and she felt compelled to follow. Their lips, moments for touching, breathing mingling together in a sinful menagerie. She craved to touch him, but was nothing but putty in his hands.

“Hello Angel.”


End file.
